


the mistake

by chenilles



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chenilles/pseuds/chenilles
Summary: Andy makes a terrible mistake.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 6
Kudos: 111





	the mistake

**Author's Note:**

> this was kind of an attempt at a canon rewrite, which i planned to expand into a larger story but never did, so now it's just a written version of the movie's events with verbatim dialogue! and then i accidentally deleted this on my other account when i meant to orphan it! i love my lack of energy, go girl give us nothing!

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Despite everything, Andy hoped Miranda could hear the sincerity in the question, and recognise the offer to help. She sucked in her breath, awaiting Miranda’s response. Andy lived on hope.

“Your job. That’s all.”

There it was, that dry undercurrent of bitterness. That was to be expected from Miranda, after all. But there was something else that Andy hadn’t been expecting. Sadness. She didn’t wear it very well, her shoulders hunched and eyes red-rimmed. Her face looked soft and warm, a far cry from that pale mask of perfection Andy was so accustomed to. 

They were together almost all hours of the day, but there always was this impassable rift between them that Andy couldn’t figure out how to cross. It was like she’d been put on an ice floe and shoved into the remote waters of Antarctica. But this, this felt absurdly intimate, the tension between them taut like string. Andy could make out the tired lines of the older woman's face and the remnants of tears streaking her cheeks and practically feel the heaviness of the sigh Miranda gives.

Miranda had the uncanny ability to pull anything off, no matter how drab the accessory, ridiculous the comment, or how unusual the facial expression. Sadness, however, was akin to an ill-fitting grey robe that dulled the sharpness behind Miranda’s eyes and deepened the hollows of her cheekbones. Andy wanted to reach out and touch her, with the hope that human contact would breathe some life into the older woman. Andy wasn’t supposed to do that. She was supposed to smile and nod, pretend nothing was wrong, and walk out of the room. That was what Miranda wanted from her- but she could give her more, so much more than that.

“Well?”

Miranda had her hands folded in her lap and was looking at her now, expectantly. She didn’t sound angry, impatient, or mocking. If only it were that, something familiar and reassuring that would do something to alleviate Andy’s worries.

“Stephen,” Andy began, and she saw Miranda tense.“Is making a huge mistake.” Her face was getting warm, because she’d overstepped. Making uninvited comments on Miranda’s personal life were not permitted. Neither was refusing to leave after being dismissed.

Miranda gave a low, throaty laugh. “Really.” She rolled her eyes, and Andy tried very hard not to feel offended. “You don’t understand, Andrea. I’m the problem.”

Andy just stared at her, at a loss for words, while Miranda ran her hand on the arm of the sofa and looked at the floor. Whispers of the silk filled the room, contributing to the din of Andy’s swirling thoughts. “You’re wrong. I know how you feel, though.”

“Oh, do you?” The older woman’s lip curled into a sneer. “You cannot fathom what my marriage was like.” _Yes, I can,_ Andy didn’t say. _I know you better than anyone else, maybe even better than you know yourself._

Miranda's eyes were grey like ash, still turbulent, and still lost. But when she spoke, her voice had regained its strength. "Get out."

___

Andy clapped for Miranda and smiled as wide as her face would allow. She felt sicker than she’d ever felt in her entire life. She’d never forget the look on Nigel’s face— devastated, but accepting. Miranda’s face was triumphant, not one iota of regret etched into those perfect cheekbones or glimmering grey eyes.

Her head was stuck on that loop, and each replay made it no less unsettling.

___

The nausea started when she’d initially gotten the news from Christian. Irv was going to take Runway away from Miranda— Miranda, who was lost and sad, had experienced yet another disappointment, another loss, and was bound for one more. He said it all with a smile, that one that Andy had found charming five minutes prior. She couldn’t believe it.

Andy raced across Paris in the clothes she wore yesterday, was hung up on by Miranda, got a door slammed in her face by Miranda. Then her desperate, fragmented warnings were brushed off by— surprise, surprise, Miranda.

To say Andy was frustrated would be a gross exaggeration. She paced along the length of the empty marble hall, the resounding snicks of her heels adding to her mounting anxiety and vexation. Andy muttered to herself under her breath as absentmindedly ran her fingers through the softness of Miranda’s mink stole. She stopped though, once she’d realised how close she was to tearing the fur out.

Miranda knows, she told herself. She has a plan.

Her stomach churned unpleasantly all the same— not in panic, but with dread of what was to come next.

___

Nigel’s speech was short, but sweet. He looked around the room with joy in his eyes, and at Miranda with something like veneration. When Miranda took the stage, navigating her way through the tables with the grace of a swan, she gave Nigel one of the first genuine smiles Andy had ever seen on her.

When the editor began speaking, her voice smooth like velvet and every other expensive fabric in the world, Andy noticed the crowd instinctively lean in to listen to her. Miranda had that kind of effect on people— what was it called? Charisma. Magnetism.

That was it. Everyone loved her, couldn’t get enough of Miranda Priestly, desperate to take in as much of her as they possibly could. They saw her not as simply as Miranda, but this almost ethereal goddess crowned queen of the fashion empire, whose mere name held immeasurable power and worth.

Andy supposed she couldn’t blame anyone for thinking like that— it was really a struggle not to. Even Emily, who was privy to the unsavoury bits of Miranda’s private life, would lay down in traffic for her. Andy paid attention to Miranda as she spoke, noted every elegant roll of her neck, every shift in her posture. It was all very deliberate, controlled. Miranda’s eyes, always steely like flint, swept across the room. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d Andy stumbled upon crying last night. Then Andy blinked. Nigel bit the knuckle of his finger, suddenly seeming very interested in the tablecloth. Jacqueline stood up and bowed to thunderous applause. And Miranda still stood at the podium, still clapping politely with that subtle smile of hers.

Andy barely registered what Miranda said afterwards. She kept staring at her the entire time, mind blank as a sheet.

___

Miranda’s eyes flickered to Andrea briefly once she was seated again, and for the first time, found that she could not read the girl’s expression.

She made sure to not let her gaze linger. Her newfound confidence dipped a degree.

___

Andy stared out the car window. Last night, the world had seemed so exciting, a brilliant spectacle of light and colour. Now the shapes of the city blurred past her in subtle variations of grey and white.

“You thought I didn’t know.” Miranda’s voice startled her, a low murmur. With great difficulty, Andy brought herself to look at her. The older woman’s eyes met hers, crystal clear and calculating. Andy thought she could see the hint of a smile.

“I’ve known what was happening for quite some time.” Miranda turned her attention to her own car window again, and Andy stared at the back of the driver’s head as she listened to her speak.

Miranda delved into the specifics of what her plan had entailed with Irv, James, and Jacqueline. She looked incredibly pleased with herself as she spoke, her cadence cool and playful, even chuckling once or twice. Andy watched the now-bleak background of the city pass them by, unable to think of anything useful to say to that.

Then Miranda’s voice went hard, all playfulness gone. “Truth is, there is no one that I can do what I do. Any of the other choices would have found that job impossible and the magazine would have suffered.” No one was truly irreplaceable, Andy knew, but didn't say.

“Especially because of the list.” At this, Miranda looked at Andy again, giving her an almost indulgent smile. “The list of designers, photographers, editors, writers, models— all of whom were found by me, nurtured by me, and have promised me they would follow me whenever and if ever I choose to leave Runway.” She barked a laugh. “So he reconsidered.”

Andy felt fine-tuned to Miranda’s words, unable to stop listening or tear her eyes away from the woman despite every atom in her body screamed at her to. The only benefit of this was that it dragged her out of her previously murky thoughts and allowed a passing moment of clarity.

“But I was very, very impressed with how intently you tried to warn me.” Miranda’s eyes shone with something warm, like they had the night before. “I never thought I’d say this, Andrea, but I really—” she paused.

Andy hated how she was anticipating what Miranda would say next.

“I see a great deal of myself in you.”

That was not what she had been expecting, and Andy was sure her expression was disbelieving. There was a heavy, if not short moment of silence that passed.

“You can see beyond what people want, what they need, and you can choose for yourself.”

Andy closed her eyes to have a moment to think. She could still feel Miranda’s gaze on her. “I don’t think I’m like that. I- I couldn’t do what you did to Nigel, Miranda, I couldn’t do something like that.”

Miranda made an amused hum. “Mm. You already did. To Emily.”

A protest rose out of Andy reflexively. “That not what I- no, no, that was different, I didn’t have a choice.” Miranda had been threatening her job, the position she’d sacrificed too much for to give up so easily. Did it really make her as bad as Miranda, just to be afraid of failure?

“Oh no, you chose,” Miranda said cooly, as she smoothed out her skirt with a gloved hand. “You chose to get ahead.” Andy opened her mouth to disagree, but Miranda spoke again. “If you want this life, those choices are necessary.” The older woman stretched her neck, peering out the window as if searching for something.

“But what if this isn’t what I want?” Andy’s voice came out weak. “What if I don’t want to live the way you live?” There was something inexplicably tantalising about Miranda, who exuded a kind of unquestionable authority while remaining completely unknowable. The mystique drew people in, made them hold their breath hoping for a quick glimpse of her. Maybe Andy did want that— but she was sure she didn’t want the price that came along with it.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea,” Miranda said sternly. “Everyone wants to be us.” With that, she pushed her sunglasses onto her face in one fluid motion and opened the car door. The transformation was incredible— her face broke into a wide smile the moment she stepped out, flash bulbs of cameras exploding in their faces, enveloping Miranda in a wave of pale light.

Andy’s stomach felt like it’d been flipped inside out and she lingered on the street, after the car had pulled out. She watched the paparazzi part like a wave for Miranda, who glided through with countenance. Her thoughts swirled, recalling all that had happened today, what Miranda had said to her. She needed to get out of here. She couldn’t even name how she was feeling right now. Angry, sad, but most of all, terrified of herself, of Miranda, what might become of her if she stays. If she wished to maintain some kind of morality or sanity she had to leave. There was no question. Andy was grounded to her spot, split by indecision.

Then Miranda turned around, scanned the crowd below. Her smile receded, and Andy saw pure panic in her eyes. She looked lost.

Before Andy knew it, she was weaving her way through the paparazzi, running into people as she climbed up the stairs. She could see just the top of Miranda’s head, a glimpse of silver hair. The older woman was waiting at the top for her, a little off to the side. When she noticed Andy, she just nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary, and walked off. Andy had come to the conclusion that taking this job was the worst mistake of her life. But when Miranda stopped and jerked her head for Andy to follow, she did so without question nor hesitation.

There was no going back now.


End file.
